


my hand around your wrists

by blathering_kat



Series: words across his throat [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bondage, Bruises, Gags, M/M, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blathering_kat/pseuds/blathering_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows, of course, that Louis is doing it on purpose. He's rolled the too-long sleeves on Liam's shirt up high enough to show the base of the antlers on his arm, but not quite far enough to show the ring of dark bruises Liam left last night, holding Louis down with more force than he needed to, wanting to see Louis let go and relax into the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my hand around your wrists

He's doing it again. Liam understands that all of them have this loose association with the concepts of privacy and ownership, but really. Louis's stolen every one of Liam's shirts in a progressive pattern over the last few weeks. It's not like he had all that many to begin with, but now he's stuck wearing Harry's rather personality-free white shirts on stage while Louis prances around in Liam's favorite Batman shirt.

The collar is so loose that Liam can see most of the words inked on his chest, and every time he moves or bounces across the stage chasing Niall, Liam's eyes catch hints of tanned skin peeking out along Louis' shoulders as the neck drags from side to side. If he looks close enough, he knows he'll see the places where not even Lou's magical makeup bag could cover up the marks left by Liam's fingers on Louis' skin. They've gotten better at hiding the bruises, really, but sometimes Louis needs them to show, and sometimes Liam can't help wanting everyone to see how very much Louis belongs to him.

He knows, of course, that Louis is doing it on purpose. He's rolled the too-long sleeves on Liam's shirt up high enough to show the base of the antlers on his arm, but not quite far enough to show the ring of dark bruises Liam left last night, holding Louis down with more force than he needed to, wanting to see Louis let go and relax into the pain.

(He's still afraid, sometimes. Afraid he'll go too far, or leave too many marks, and Louis won't come back, won't wake up.)

He has plans for tonight, though. It's a hotel night again, and he's warned the others that late night knocks on their door will be ignored and revenged with prejudice. He needs Louis all to himself tonight, needs to send a message, respond to what Louis's been asking him with his eyes, his body, his stolen shirts. Louis needs to feel like Liam's again, he thinks. And that's something he can do. 

 

They're supposed to be spending their time off writing, so no one gives them a second glance when they leave the venue early and head for the hotel room, Louis' legs and arms wrapped around Liam's waist and neck. When Liam reaches under Louis' legs to hitch him up a little further, he can feel the end of his own too-long shirt and the urgent need to see it rumpled and on the floor makes his steps just that much quicker.

When they get back to the room, Liam shoves Louis toward the bed.

“Pushy tonight, aren’t we?” Louis’ voice is light, eyes sparking with anticipation.

“Sit. Stay. Close your eyes,” he commands, earning himself raised eyebrows and an intrigued look. Louis, of course, does what he's told (mostly, for now), and settles into the covers, hands over his eyes. Liam pulls his supplies for the night out of his bag and crawls onto the bed next to Louis, running one hand over Louis' belly while the other pulls Louis' left hand away from his face. Liam wraps one of his shirts around Louis' wrist, then tightens the first belt around the makeshift padding. When he pulls it tight and secures the belt to the metal bed frame, Louis' entire body stiffens and he squeezes his eyes shut even tighter, offering up his other hand.

Liam digs blunt fingernails into Louis' arm as he drags his right hand even with the left, drawing a hiss and a grin from the boy sprawled on the bed. Louis' teeth dig into his lower lip, not quite deep enough to draw blood; Liam leans down and joins in, tasting a hint of blood as Louis tests his bonds and arches his body into Liam's. He shoves Louis back down into the mattress, then rips at the seams of his Batman shirt, tearing well-worn material away at the sleeves and neck, watching as the elastic digs into Louis' skin and drags deep red marks into healing skin. He traces the marks with his tongue, twisting the remains of (Liam's) shirt into a gag while Louis writhes and moans against the sheets.

Liam pulls the gag tight and ties it around Louis' head. He doesn't tend to talk when they do this – he's more likely to melt into Liam than to try to argue – but Liam's not taking any chances tonight. Louis' shoulders relax into the mattress as he stops testing his bonds, but that's not what Liam wants right now. He wants Louis to feel every bit of tonight, to be able to see it in his skin and remember every time he closes his eyes, so he forces a second pillow under Louis' head, forcing his head and chest up and pulling his arms taut.

Louis is looking right at him now, eyes trusting and soft in the way he's used to seeing on nights like this. Liam grabs the last pillow and nudges it under Louis' hips. They don't have many nights to themselves in hotel rooms, so this isn't really a position they're used to. He digs fingernails into Louis' waist and hips as he drags down loose sweats, then slides slick fingers inside. Louis' still slightly open from their “writing session” the night before, so he doesn't take his time.

Louis watches hungrily, hips twitching slightly, as Liam slides on a condom and pushes forward into Louis. He leans over Louis, giving himself more leverage and putting himself in a better position to catch the skin on Louis' collarbone between his teeth. He sets a harsh, fast rhythm, making sure to pull Louis' arms tight with every thrust. He feels the muscles of Louis' stomach tense as he gets close, and carefully slows his rhythm in response, just enough to bring him back down. This isn't supposed to be over fast.

Louis' eyes are closed now, sweat and tears making the skin on his face glisten in the dim light of the room. Liam keeps his hands on Louis' chest and neck, marking him, tracing letters and words into his skin with his fingertips. Louis starts to make whimpering noises behind the gag, eyes begging Liam to push him further, to let him come and make him feel it. Liam settles his arm on Louis' throat and pushes down, letting himself thrust faster, harder, pushing both of them closer to the edge.

Louis jerks and comes underneath him, spilling hotly onto Liam’s chest and stomach with a groan, muffled through the makeshift gag. Liam lets himself go, catching himself on shaky arms before he can fall onto Louis. He pulls out, gently now, tossing the condom into the trash, then loosens the gag and the ties on both wrists, letting Louis curl into a ball on the bed. Liam wets a rag and cleans them both off, letting the cloth and the mess of old shirts and belts fall onto the floor (they’ll go back in his suitcase later) as he wraps himself around Louis.

“Okay?” He asks, a little worried. Louis hands are on the red marks around his wrists, alternating between lightly tracing the faint lines where the belts pushed through the padding and wrapping his fingers around, squeezing tightly.

“Better than,” Louis answers, and laughs a little breathlessly. His eyelids are drooping already, like he's expended all of that manic energy he always absorbs onstage. Liam loves him like this, when he's ready to curl up and cuddle, when he lets Liam wrap his arms around him and hold tight without trying to slip away. They fall asleep like that with Louis' smaller hand holding Liam's forearm, fingers only reaching about halfway around.

 

Liam wakes on his back in the morning, feeling like something's crawling on the skin of his chest. He sleepily swipes at whatever it is, but his hand is caught mid-swing in Louis' firm grip. Louis' weight is settled on his hips and lower stomach, and he's shining in the sun coming in through the open curtains, still-shirtless skin mottled with shadows and bruises. 

Liam wakes up enough to realize that what woke him is a marker, a thin Sharpie, skating lightly over his skin. Louis is writing on him, entire paragraphs of words that he sees upside down as he carefully pulls himself up. Louis drops back onto Liam's thighs, but he doesn't stop writing, small hand holding Liam in place. Liam can't tear his eyes away from his swollen lips long enough to try to read the text, but he has to know.

“What is it?” he whispers, not really wanting to break the silence of the morning. 

“It's a song, one of our songs,” Louis says, voice still a little rough. “I think I finished it.” Liam relaxes back into the sheets, waiting for Louis to finish. 

When he's done, he’ll put on another of Liam’s too-big shirts and they’ll sit down and they’ll write out the words that burn hotly on Liam’s chest. They’ll turn their song over to someone else, of course, but it'll still be theirs, their song, their words, and Liam knows that every time he sings it, he'll feel Louis writing them into his skin.


End file.
